“Of course, Doctor Watson… where is your friend, the sleuth?”
“Mr Sherlock Holmes? He’s not here presently.”
“Is he on another case?” the Lord asked.
“He is, in fact. If you’ll step out into the hall, I’ll tell you all about it.” He gave me an odd look.
“Why can’t you tell me here?”
I said nothing. His expression went from excitement to fear.
“My life isn’t in danger, is it?”
I drew near the Lord and whispered into his ear: “Though I strongly disagree with your beliefs and prejudices, my Lord, I do not wish to see you come to harm, which you will should you remain here.”
He gave me a piercing stare. He walked towards the door and I followed behind.
I saw Reid in conversation with an old woman. He looked perturbed. As we left the room, I noticed someone following us, one of the anarchists must have seen us leave. A few of the guests were outside, blocking a secret exit. I told Lord Myers to follow me. We went in the opposite direction and then down the first corridor we came upon.
I told Myers to stop a moment. I could hear the sound of footsteps. I looked back down the hall, and could see a long shadow approaching. I started trying door handles. They were locked. We turned down another hall just as the figure came into view at the other end. I pulled on a handle, but the door was locked. Lord Myers grabbed my arm. I looked at him, and saw his gaze was ahead. I turned and saw, to my horror, the tall lanky figure of the Goblin Man. I could hear the footsteps getting closer. We were trapped.
The Goblin Man slowly crept towards us. His dead eyes pierced me. He held a blood-stained blade. In the other hand was a cricket bat with a number of nails sticking out of the top. Lord Myers turned to run back down the hall. He was out of my sight, but I would not take my eye off this goblin. I heard a gasp. Lord Myers was escorted back around the corner with a revolver to his head by the man who had followed us out.
“Come with usss,” came the voice of the Goblin Man.
We were taken through a series of corridors and out through a side door. The Goblin ordered us to get into the cab. Lord Myers was put into the cab first. The Goblin stood back while the man with the gun pressed it into my back, pushing me forward. I turned to sit in the cab. As I did, the man holding the gun lowered his hand. I quickly grabbed his hand, and twisting it, loosened the gun from his grip. The Goblin charged at me. I snatched the gun and fired a shot. He stepped back and growled. I was struck from behind and fell to the ground.
The gun fell out of my grip, but before I could get it I was surrounded by the other man and the Goblin. The goblin picked up the gun and handed it to his partner before standing over me and putting his foot upon my chest. He rolled the blade over my face and chuckled. With the point down, he stepped off and ran the blade down my torso. I waited for any moment when he would drive the blade into my stomach, and I would watch in horror as my insides were torn out, just like White. With a shout, the two turned as Lord Myers leapt from the cab at them. The three rolled on the ground. I heard a blood-curdling scream as I witnessed the Goblin leap upon the Lord and pierce his right shoulder with the blade. The Goblin picked him up and held the blade to his neck. The Goblin’s partner aimed the gun at my head. We were pushed inside. The Goblin yelled for the driver to carry on.
***
Silence hung heavy in the cab as it rattled through the darkened London streets. The windows were covered with thick curtains which prevented us from seeing out or anyone from seeing in. Lord Myers held his wound; the blood was seeping through his clothes and running down his hand. The Goblin sat next to the dignitary with one foot on the seat, his arm rested on his knee, with the stained blade in his hand ready to lunge forward. His partner sat next to me with his gun at the ready.
We were in the cab for some time; how long I could not tell. By the time we stopped, Lord Myers had lost a fair amount of blood. As we stepped out into the night and the moonlight fell upon us, I could see that he was sickly pale. The Goblin grabbed him and jerked him around. It took me a moment to get my bearings; we were on a bridge with the Thames rushing beneath us. With a revolver in my back, I watched in terror as the Goblin cuffed the lord and attached a long chain to the cuffs before forcing him onto the ledge.
“Do you know the story of Moses and the Pharaoh?” the Goblin asked.
“Wha… what?” returned Myers, whimpering.
“Yes, you see the Pharaoh had oppressed the Jews, turned them into slaves, beat them, killed them, raped the women; all the while he lived high up in his castle.”
Lord Myers wobbled on the ledge while the Goblin paced behind him. I could see the Myers trying to keep an eye on him as he anticipated the inevitable fall.
“What have I ever done to you?” Lord Myers cried.
“What haven’t you done?” the Goblin yelled.
He jerked Myers back, causing him to scream. Suddenly I felt the revolver move from my back and heard a strange grunt from behind. I turned to see my captor being held from behind by a mysterious figure. I looked at the Goblin, who was still yelling at his victim, unaware of what was happening. The man fell unconscious, and I looked up to see the face of Sherlock Holmes. He picked up the man’s revolver and nodded at me.
“You, Lord Myers! You have oppressed the Jews of London, tried to smoke us out like rats, acted as if we are a poison to your elitist society. My people have wanted your head for many years, and now, now it will be delivered to them; but more than that, the money, all that money, you gave to Wilder - he’s a Jew. A Jew will be feeding Britain with a new array of weapons, ones that we will use to hunt scum like you down; and our God, he will crush you. Crush you in the water just as God did to Pharaoh’s people as they charged after the freed Jews through the Red Sea.”
Holmes fired a shot. The Goblin leapt back and looked over towards us. The bulbous eyes shone in the moonlight. He grabbed the Lord. “Take one more shot, and he will die.”
“It’s over, Goblin,” said Holmes. “Wilder is already arrested. You were the final piece. The game is over, Ruth.”
The Goblin Man stood there, motionless. “It might be over but it doesn’t mean our task has failed. The murder of this man will be righteous!”
He pushed the Lord, and we watched him fall. As he plummeted he let out a terrified scream that echoed about us. The chain rattled as it ripped over the edge. Holmes and I charged after the Goblin who ran away laughing.
“Get Myers!” yelled Holmes as he chased the Goblin.
I looked over the edge. Lord Myers was under the water. I pulled the chain as hard as I could. Slowly, but surely, I lifted him from the water. My arms strained as I tugged the chain. It was then that I realised how cold the air was as the metal chain felt like it was burning against my skin. I could hear Lord Myers panting and coughing as he emerged from the waters below.
I could feel my arms weakening. Give me the most strenuous task on the hottest day and I shall not flinch, but ever since my Afghan campaign, the cold has not been something I could handle with ease.
I felt my arms begin to give. The chain nearly left my hand, but Holmes had returned and grabbed it. He and I pulled the Lord to safety. When we pulled him over the edge, he was shivering and going into hypothermia. We put him into the cab and I tore the curtains off in order to keep him warm. Holmes left whilst I saw to the patient, but he came back a moment or two later. He threw the goblin mask into the back of the cab. I looked out and saw Holmes standing there with a woman lying on the ground. It was Ruth Lamech. Holmes had subdued the woman with chloroform.
Thus, the Goblin Man mystery, the disappearance of Phillias Jackson, and the Whitechapel Disaster came to a bitter end on a cold autumn night over the Thames.
***
Meanwhile, back at the Royal Geographical Society, Reid had been approached by an elderly woman. He informed me later that it was none other than Lamech’s mother. As I was escorting Lord Myers out, she saw and recognised Reid.
She, feeling guilty, told him that Jackson was Lamech’s step-brother and was heir to their anarchist throne. She claimed she was too old for any more fighting or revenge.
Wilder was arrested by Reid, and tried before a court for his crimes. He admitted to the use of the fire flower, and the poisoning of Daniels and Lamech with Ruth’s help. He also admitted to planting the explosive on the Whitechapel train. Jackson had planned to frame Daniels and Goodtree in order to acquire their business and use it to fund his anarchist schemes. The top of the list was to murder Lord Myers. Doctor Jonqueres came from France per the request of Mr Hewitt to offer his testimony, along with that of Lamech’s mother. Jackson’s connections to Osgen, the leader of the Peckham Liberal Club, became quite clear. It came out that She, too, was a target of the anarchist group for forcing young Jewish girls into prostitution, and when she learnt who Jackson was she wanted him out of the club and threatened to expose his connection to Lamech. Part of Osgen’s blackmailing resulted in Lord Myers being removed from his place in Parliament as photographs of the Lord involving young Jewish girls were found in the Liberal Club. Ruth was further tried for her involvement and for the murder of Mr White and the attempted murder of Lord Myers.
***
The rooms at Baker Street were filled once more with rolling smoke from Holmes’s cherrywood pipe. Mrs Hudson had served us warm meats, roast potatoes, gravy, and hot tea. A fire created a soft golden glow in the room. Mr Hewitt and Brett, Inspector Reid, Sherlock Holmes, and I sat smoking and feasting together on the 17th of December. A light snow shower had fallen that day, and the roads were white.
“It’s all very peaceful in this study of yours, Holmes,” said Hewitt.
“It serves as an epicentre for all things outré in this jungle,” Holmes returned, taking a puff of his pipe.
“It seems, Mr Brett, that you are well on your way to a nice recovery,” said I.
“I am indeed, Doctor. I am only sorry I could not see the case out to the very end.”
“Worry not, my dear Brett,” said Mr Hewitt. “We are glad to have you with us.”
“Though, Mr White, that fiery, ginger Doctor, he will never be forgotten,” Brett said thoughtfully.
“He shall not, indeed,” said Reid. “He was, for all his faults, a good man.”
“I knew him from a past long ago,” said Brett. Reid looked curious. “While I was ill, I wrote up the short story about the events that led me to believe White was a terrible man. But after the events at the Liberal Club, which I haven’t the heart to speak aloud yet, I know him to be an honest one.”
We all raised a glass of brandy and toasted White’s memory. After much chatter, feasting, and smoking, we wished each other the compliments of the season as our friends and colleagues departed. Before Brett left, he handed me a pile of papers and told me it was his side of the case. After what happened with White, he did not feel it was something he could hold on to, but wanted it in safe hands. I took it and held it with care.
***
A few days later, while Holmes and I sat in the study smoking and reading, I received a package from Inspector Reid containing his notes from the case. The events had a taken their emotional toll upon both Brett and Reid.
“Are you going to compile them?” Holmes asked, setting down the paper he was reading. “With your story included?”
“Our story, Holmes,” said I, flipping through the pages.
“Quite right,” he said with a nod.
“I think I shall. But I won’t rewrite any of it. I shall keep their stories intact and not interweave them until our stories become one.”
“Well, Watson. We all share the same interwoven story; simply the characters change as they come and go.”
“You are correct, old man.”
Holmes put his pipe back to his lips and opened the paper and continued reading.
Epilogue
An Article by Mr Brett
This Article was written by my colleague Mr Brett regarding a truth about Mr Vigo White. I have included it an end piece to our narrative as I feel it brings about the final conclusion:
Vigo White of Whitechapel, a man of science with fiery red hair, died at the hands of a brutal murderer in Autumn 1890.
Mr White was in no way a famous man, or one held in high esteem, save by a few within the H Division. He led a long and difficult life, which followed him to the end. What can be attested to, however, is his strength and courage. He was no white knight, but a dark rider. A man with questionable morals, but a good heart nevertheless. He first came to my acquaintance many years ago while he trained to be a doctor in the North of England. His was born in Oldham to a Mr John and Darcy White. His mother was half Italian, and they named their son after her grandfather, Vigo. It was a series of events in December of 18 - that brought our paths together for what I thought would be the only time.
Many will remember the tragic story of Isabella Taylorson, wife to a Mr Archibald Taylorson of Salford. Archibald Taylorson was a wealthy man who built his name within the steam industry. It was December 24th 18 - when his wife, Isabella, pressed through the busy crowds in Market Street, withdrew a revolver, and shot herself dead. Found on her person was a note from Mr Vigo White, pleading with her to leave her husband.
As a result of the court case it was revealed that Vigo White and Mrs Taylorson had entered into a relationship. Mr Taylorson had forbidden the two to see each other, but Mr White repeatedly tried time and time again coerce Mrs Taylorson to leave her husband. It was said that drugs were used on Mrs Taylorson which effected her mental stability and caused her to end her life in such a dramatic fashion. It was suggested that Mr White was responsible for the death, as he was using experimental medication on her. It was all conjecture, and no solid proof was ever unearthed to pin Mr White to Mrs Taylorson’s suicide. As a result of the hearing, Mr White was expelled from his medical training, and withdrew from all social circles.
I was with Mr White before he was viciously killed. A series of strange events brought us together that I can now only see as an act of providence. A final opportunity to clear a man whom I thought was completely guilty from what were false accusations.
It is true that Mr White had entered into a relationship with Mrs Taylorson; it is true that he pleaded with her to run away. What was never revealed during the initial case was his complete motivation for his pleas. It was partly due to a forbidden love between the two, this much we knew; but also his desire to see her in safe hands. Further investigation revealed that Mrs Taylorson had a series of bruises on her body - Mr White was accused of this treatment. The truth is Mr White met Mrs Taylorson at a social gathering. He was a young man, and she was an elegant bride of a rich man. It was at this gathering that White noticed a coldness between Mr and Mrs Taylorson. As Mr White got closer to Mr Taylorson he discovered a dark truth; Mr Taylorson regularly beat his wife, and subjected her to forced sexual encounters. She confided in Mr White and no one else. The two made plans to run away but when Mr Taylorson caught them on a December afternoon, he made sure she was never to see Mr White again. While it was told that she never left the house due to fear of Mr White, the truth was that Mr Taylorson had locked her up in her rooms. Mr White continued to sneak letters to Mrs Taylorson, and they continued to make plans for her escape.
Mrs Taylorson was meant to creep out of the house and take a cab to the city centre of Manchester where she was suppose to find Mr White waiting for her at a small inn. She managed her escape, found her way to the city, and without any warning, shot herself dead. After the case was over and Mr White was released of the charges and forced to stop his medical education, he was visited by Mr Taylorson. Mr Taylorson informed Mr White that he knew all along what was happening. He planned his wife’s death around their ‘escape’.
Mr White recalled what Mr Taylorson said to him: “I came up behind her, shot her in the head in front of everyone and no one knew. That, Mr White, isn’t luck or chance. That is power. Something you’ll neve
r have. If she wasn’t going to be mine, she wasn’t going to be yours.”
It was March 18 - when Mr Taylorson was found dead in his study. Ha had taken a fatal injection of cocaine. On his writing desk was a note which read: “I, Archibald Taylorson, am the destroyer of lives, including my own.”
On April 18 - Mr White relocated himself to London. Despite having been forced out of professional medical training, he continued to learn medicine, and became of great use for several years to Scotland Yard’s H Division. If my younger self had the wisdom I do today, perhaps I could have seen through the cracks in the story when they transpired. Perhaps I could have aided Mr White rather than worked against him with every stroke of my pen. As I said, providence has given me this chance to right a wrong.
Before Mr White’s passing we were thrust together for one final adventure. My heart was, at first, cold towards him, as I regarded him as a fiend, a destroyer of things good, and a devil who slipped through the Law’s grip. I regret, now, that I’ll never get to know him better for who he really was - a good man, a brave man. Moments before a terrible attack befell us he confided the story which I told above, and, while at first I was skeptical, he proved to be this good man by saving my life. He will be remembered.
The End
A Scandal in America
The Letter
To Sherlock Holmes she is always the Woman. It was, as I recall, late March of 1888 when a most peculiar case descended upon my friend. The King of Bohemia had sought the aid of Sherlock Holmes when a scandalous photograph of the king and the beautiful Irene Adler had surfaced. The king feared Miss Adler’s intentions were to ruin him by exposing this photograph prior to his wedding to the daughter of the King of Scandinavia.
Holmes put his remarkable mental powers to use in order to locate and retrieve this photograph and end the ordeal for the Bohemian king. He was, however, outsmarted by the woman, Irene Adler. When he attempted to take the scandalous photograph, Holmes simply found a note from Irene Adler and a photograph of herself. The note stated that she had fled the country with her new husband, Godfrey Norton, a lawyer, and that they would not return. There was, however, no need to chase Irene Adler and Godfrey Norton. It was made clear that she had no intension on using the scandalous photograph, but held it solely for the purpose of her own protection.
Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Thread of Murder Page 13
